You can’t save ‘em all, Katharine.
Just a couple things from over on my instagram: @tkowkat
Dressing up like “Carmen San Dindigo” as a friend said, had me laughing most of the day. Next, a pot of pulled pork with herbs a favorite as the weather is changing. Haha, who am I kidding, a favorite all the time. A bottle of Bulleit Rye, now stocked at my local spirits store I had to bring home. Finally, my Eastland Mocs, which I am having a difficult time not styling outfits around constantly.
I am prickly and mean when I have to stand up to your love. I feel like you are demanding that I cut off my hand so you always have someone holding yours. I think that you keep telling me I’m wrong because you are, and you never like admitting when you’re wrong.
I know you like to have me there, until I’m not, and the reasons I leave you punish me for. I’ve poured my love and my time into you, and I’m emptying out quickly because you haven’t poured anything of sustenance back into me. I went out on a ledge and told you that I wanted to cultivate and nurture myself so that I am the person I was when we first met, instead of this hesitant version of myself, this fearful version of myself.
I feel like a cactus that you get frustrated with because you assume I am too hearty to die, you justify that you’ve put me in a room that gets sun. You put up curtains to block out the direct light, and you water me too much some times, and very very little others, both times with murky water. You keep the windows closed. I ache for full sun, not drowning in your attention or starving for your support. There is a difference, you know.
If I stay I know I’ll continue wilting. My base will become weak and wobbly. I’ve been asking for more, and you refuse to acknowledge that my needs are based in my experiences, and not experience. The difference in the lives we have led, and want to lead are becoming more apparent. Companionship is a word you seem to think I don’t understand.
It’s breaking a beautiful rare part of me that you uncovered to know that if things don’t change, this will be all over before we even really had a chance. But, I suppose we’d both have to admit we need change, and you aren’t really doing that, are you?
On the 4th of this month TKoW turned 4 years old. Four years ago I remember exactly the moment I created it, and I remember when it started taking off as more than just a 19 year-old’s inspiration board. Nearly 100,000 followers, 2 long distant relationships, several jobs, many life changing experiences and an abundance of kindreds later, I am a very very different woman.
Cheers guys, it’s been absolutely amazing. Fucking amazing, in fact. Thank you!
I am round where others are flat, flat where others are round.
I have rough skin on the bottoms of my feet, soft skin on the backs of my knees.
I have freckles, marks, scars and bruises. I breath deep gulps of air.
I am not like anyone before or anyone who is to come, other than our ends.
I have no reason to compare myself to others.
Not the rounding of my thighs, or the set of my eyes.
Not my train of thought, nor the way my hands flutter through the air when I talk.
These are possessions that are unconditionally mine.
I didn’t have to pay for them, I didn’t have to bargain, haggle and scrimp for them.
I didn’t have to pine after them on the pages of magazines.
Nor desire them from the pages of books.
My eyes do not see them elsewhere.
I do somethings better than others, I do many things worse than others.
I need not compare my talents to others.
I need not compare accomplishments or failures of others to my accomplishments and failures.
So, my curves, my imperfections, are not imperfect.
I am perfect. I am a perfect me.
However, I have to repeat these words each time I feel the doubt and fear creeping in.
I am a perfect me.
Reading this right now, you are the perfect you.
The set of your eyes, the hitch of your stride.
The scars you have or don’t have.
You are the perfect you.
Relish in your perfection, often.
Praise your perfection.
Worship your soft, your rough.
The curve, the hollow, the point, the flat.
Let’s agree you are perfect, I am perfect.
Live in your perfection.
Start self praise.
I am a perfect me.
-Kat Keegan March 12th, 2012
From the past, re-reading my writing, which is making my heart a little lighter.
This and that, and everything in between. I’m on instagram @tkowkat.
Very anxious for the summer yellows and oranges, cocktails with citrus, and breaking bread outside.
Boots at Vagabond in Old City | Glasses from Warby Parker they are the Finch | Shirt from Madewell |Thrifted sign | Rug Purchased from Vagabond | Fresh Baked French Bread based on Julia Child’s Recipe
Today on North 3rd St I saw this lovely little picture in my mind before I even captured it.
It’s been a little over 10 weeks since I decided to meet my best girl Sarah for a drink at one of the private bars in our town, and when I was permitted to enter I was maneuvered to sit next to a giant smiling man with large rough hands. A man I had actively avoided and disliked for 2 months previous. Forced to allow him to pay for my drink, as non member I was not permitted to pay, I gave him a chance. My posture was relaxed but not welcomingly pointed in his direction. I ordered a double Jameson on the rocks, which his good friends have since told me is the moment he further fell for me. We talked, he made me laugh then we parted ways, but not before I had taken his phone and programed my number in it, telling him he wouldn’t spell my name right.
I yelled at Sarah profusely in her apartment why she had tricked me into sitting with him. She’d been smiling the whole time, because this handsome knucklehead of a man was loud, and ineloquent, but he was charming and warm. Needless to say I ignored him the rest of the night until he asked me where I was, I told him to meet me at my favorite haunt in town, the pub.
The pub, funnily enough was the place I had originally seen him and given him a cold shoulder after kicking his ass off the pool table. We ended up spending the entire night together, laughing and talking. He telling me that for the past two months he’d noticed me and tried without success to strike up a conversation with me. I covered my face and laughed at this tale. I’d always been drawn to him, a tall broad shouldered man with a brooding and unconventionally handsome face.
Mike. Good lord in heaven above knew that I was as far away from meeting someone as I’d been in years. As you may have read in my past posts, I am in a transitional period where my selfishness is warranted. Or at least excusable… barely.
So, it’s been a topsy turvy ride. I have, admittedly been “play acting” at relationships my entire life. Okay, maybe not play acting, but comparatively to the past 10 weeks every other interaction I have ever had with a man has been with training wheels.
I’ve loved before, but never have I ever felt the way I do about this big scarred man that has found his way to me. And never has another human being been more of a stranger to me than him. He’s a big goofball, he makes crude jokes that I reprimand him for, and he’s distracted constantly. Eight years my senior, I find myself more mature in some ways and extremely naive in others.
I’m discovering what it means to partner in things, intimate and otherwise. I am learning to accept the things I originally scoffed at him for, like his compliments when I wake bleary eyed with bad breath in the morning. Or to snort at his attempts at romance, he usually just exhales his sentimental statements like a sprinter after a dash. As if I’m supposed to know what he feels and thinks.
His voice is deep, and his laugh booming. He carries many scars inside and out, I am continually finding scraps and raised tissue on his face and hands. His hair always sticks up, and he smells like comfort and summer.
I think he’s the first guy who knocks me down on my ass only to encourage me tenfold to get up and fight harder. He’s not at all menswear savvy, or “hip”, but he can build a bar & restaurant up from destruction, make me a quiche from scratch and he puts up with my horrible jokes. He’s nearly my exact opposite, but all together familiar.
He talks years down the line, and I can barely see into next week. So, here’s to 10ish weeks already having past, and everyday when he accepts my mistakes, and I support him through his. Because god knows, I’d always rather be laughing about something than crying.
Some beautiful things in my life for the past few weeks from New York to Philadelphia to Home which is in between…
For more follow me on instagram: @tkowkat
Today I went back into the first city I ever fell in love with, New York. I was asked by the ever amazing Marketing crew at Club Monaco to come down and see the newest location they have opened in NYC.
On Spring and Broadway, this gem awaits. Everything outside was blistering winds and chilling cold, but inside were spring whites, blooming flowers and merchandising a shop girl dreams of. Inspired by the traditional SoHo style, the whole shop had a homie boutique feel mixed with modern touches.
It was, in one word, enchanting.
"I love Bill Murray….I love the feeling of my feet being buried further in the wet sand when the tide pulls back into the ocean….and… I love toast"
-Things I say to my coworkers a half hour before close on a Friday night.